Penn State football coach James Franklin: His longtime influences say he's the real thing

The man who is a father figure to Penn State head coach James Franklin once saw Franklin's three-inch thick book of life goals. When Gary Bowman reflects on that, he says of Franklin, "You knew this guy was going to be somewhere big." (Kate Penn — for the public opinion)

Since arriving at Penn State, head coach James Franklin's personality — such as when he jump bumps with Jesse Merise during team practice on Aug. 4 — has struck some as over the top. But it's the real deal, say those who know him best. (Kate Penn — For the public opinion)

The bold, talkative, never-say-I'm-tired kid learned his new neighborhood from behind the wheel of his Green Machine.

He would leave the suburban Philadelphia home of the most important person in his life, his English-raised mother, the one who molded much of who he'd become. And he would ride the sidewalks to meet new friends, as if he was a 6-year-old recruiter, finally ending up at the Bowmans.

They would come to be his adoptive parents of sorts, and their son would grow into Franklin's best boyhood friend.

Of course, there have been so many influences in the life of Penn State head coach James Franklin that led to his dramatic rise from anonymous assistant coach to the leader of one of college football traditional powers — an even more critical role for a program building back after the fallout from the Jerry Sandusky scandal.

Franklin has learned from football mentors stretching from his playing days at Neshaminy High and East Stroudsburg University to his young coaching travels across Kansas, Idaho, Wisconsin and Maryland.

But who truly formed him into the man he is now? The one who stormed Penn State this winter with over-the-top enthusiasm, who was quick to cry during speeches, who seemed so different than what everyone was used to in State College that some figured he was more car salesman than a trusting, education-first football coach.

Start with the woman whose stunning journey gave him the momentum to succeed all those years ago — the one who left him far too soon.

Then, go back to the family who helped save him and who still is immersed in his life decades later.

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• • •

Her never-ending uphill journey began like this:

One of Josie Franklin's brothers died from polio not long after he was born. Her other brother was hit by a bus and died right in front of her.

She was raised in Manchester, England and met James Franklin Sr. there while he was in the Air Force. They eloped to Ireland before coming to the States and settling for a time in Pittsburgh, with his family.

They eventually anchored near Philly and had a daughter, Debbie, and five years later, James. Their marriage, though, was turmoil-filled and at times, explosive. James Sr. would leave and then drift back into their lives again. Eventually, he would stay away all together.

So it became up to the woman with the English accent to raise her mixed-race kids on her own. She was in a new country with no family support beams to steady.

"She was a tough lady. And I learned that early on because my parents did not have a healthy relationship," Franklin said during a one-on-one conversation in his office this summer. "You hate to say it, but we probably had the traditional dysfunctional American family in some ways."

The toughest part was his father's outbursts and abandonment, a man Franklin described as "a violent alcoholic."

When the storms calmed, that's when Josie's oversized personality took over and tried to make up for everything else.

She vowed to attend every one of her son's sporting events and each of her daughter's school functions. At the games, she was the loudest parent cheering, so exuberant that she sometimes ran down the sidelines, as if trying to catch her son as he broke free from defenses.

She found work as a school custodian and a hallway monitor, not only to try and make ends meet but also to be close to her kids. Her tough love always poured heavy and fast, her laughter and scolding echoing through Neshaminy High. She called everyone "Lovey," and so the nickname soon stuck for her.

"When she had her back against the wall, she was last person to say, 'I can't do anything (more).' She just did what she had to do," said Gary Bowman, not only a neighbor but a principal and later the superintendent of Neshaminy schools.

"The other thing about Josie is that you didn't mess around with her. You knew she was on your side and she was going to work for you and help you, as long as you were truthful."

She did take her children back to England a few times to meet their family, and Franklin said he has reached out to those relatives to attend Penn State's historic season-opener this Saturday in Dublin, Ireland.

Mostly, he appreciates her struggles and how she raised them, ever more as time goes on. She died from cancer in 2007, in the middle of his assistant coaching rise. He said he still feels guilt because he was not around more in those last weeks and months because of his work at Kansas State.

He describes his mother as an aggressive, passionate extrovert. "She was a fighter."

Sound familiar?

And she knew this, too: Despite never going to college, she would ensure her kids had whatever tools necessary to out-distance her. Her son earned a bachelor's degree in psychology, a master's in educational leadership and has spent his life working on college campuses.

"I'm still trying to make my mom proud because of the things she overcame and what she did for us. I'm forever grateful."

• • •

The family down the street in Langhorne has known Franklin for most of four decades.

The Bowmans took him camping, invited him to birthday parties and watched him play youth football and baseball with their son, Jason.

They are still close to him.

Even as a kid, they swear, "he was a magnet. People were always attracted to him for some reason," Gary Bowman said.

The Bowmans were at the funeral for Franklin's father when he eulogized about forgiveness and coming together as a family. They also hung out together seven or eight years ago, when Franklin was on his second stint at Maryland and had worked his way to assistant head coach. Then, Franklin pulled Gary Bowman aside to show him what looked like a three-inch thick book. The pages detailed his career plans and life goals. They were his ideas on motivation, inspiration "and being committed to where you're going and what you're doing to get there."

They discussed all of it that night.

"The bottom line is you knew this guy was going to be somewhere big," Bowman said. "You knew the journey he was on was going to be a phenomenal event."

He and his wife, Joan, helped pave some of that road, too. For example, they discreetly paid the taxes on the Franklin home decades ago to rescue it from sheriff's sale.

"They saved us," Franklin said.

So flash back to this past April when the Bowmans and their son and his wife watched the Blue-White Game while catching up with his wife, Fumi Franklin.

At a postgame event, Franklin introduced the Bowmans as his parents.

• • •

James Franklin seems to be fueled by others.

His loud, engaging personality comes from his mother. His volume increases as he tells a joke or a self-deprecating story or good-naturedly cuts on anyone from a reporter to his own players.

He was on a particular roll during Big Ten Media Days in Chicago, jabbing running back Bill Belton for his lack of smiling and quarterback Christian Hackenberg for his movie-star good looks, particularly his long, preseason locks.

"I don't like standing too close to him because it seems like the wind is always blowing through his hair," Franklin said. "When he smiles, this little thing comes off his tooth like in the toothpaste commercial."

Franklin's wife is his sounding board and his sharp-wit and hard-working equal. She also earned a degree in educational leadership and once thought of becoming an athletic director. She worked 40 hours a week to put herself through college.

Even their two young daughters make him a better recruiter and coach, he says, because they hammer home the critical decisions of families "handing their child over to somebody" like him.

Those influences, along with what he describes as an immense appreciation for everything people did to support him early on, makes him fiercely loyal (he brought eight of his assistant coaches from Vanderbilt to Penn State). His passion and emotion also run so close to his surface that they bleed out at most any moment.

That's what sparked a promise to blow up balloons at birthday parties and how he hugs recruits' parents when he meets them and the way he celebrates good practice plays by jump-bumping his players. It also caused him to repeatedly tear up during speeches on his caravan bus tour this spring.

"The first time it happened I felt kind of proud that he felt comfortable enough doing that. He always fights it, but it's tough. He (tears up) behind closed doors. I see him do it in staff meetings. The kids bring it out more than anything with him."

He said it's simply who he is, and he isn't afraid to let others know his feelings. And it's grown tentacles over the years. When ESPN.com recently polled a few hundred high school recruits, Franklin was named the "most convincing" coach in the country.

Of course, Penn State and its players and fans are just one more beginning. So many others have stuck close to him through the years because, they say, this is always who he's been.

"If I called him today and said, 'James, I need your help,' he would get me help,'" Gary Bowman said. "He grew up in an environment where nothing was handed to him on a silver platter.

"Forget the coaching," he said, pausing for a moment. "He's a great human being."

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